Not Alone
by iluvtorun
Summary: The hardest part, sometimes, is understanding that you are not alone. A collection of Arrow one-shots. Pretty much every relationship on the show is fair game, but I'm an Oliciter at heart. S3 Spoilers Update: Ch 15: 37 Days - post 3.09 Drabble
1. Yes, but where did the dog come from?

**Hiiiii everyone! I've been thinking about starting a drabble collection for just about forever, because the dynamics in this show really leave so much to be explored. Plus the wait for Season 3 is killing me. As silly as it sounds, trying to think of a title was what has kept me from it for so long. But then PuzzledHats gave me this fun prompt via tumblr, and I wrote this little drabble. And THEN I was listening to Linkin Park's song "Not Alone." The idea of not being alone (but feeling like you are) is pervasive in this show. **

**I'm accepting prompts via the ask box on my tumblr page ( .com), so feel free to send a prompt. Be fair warned, angst is my favorite genre. **

**Enjoy!**

**Five Sentance Fic Prompt**

**PuzzledHats prompted: ****"Yes, but where did the dog come from?"**

Thea crossed her arms and looked down at the too-thin dog that had followed her home from the market along Corto Maltese's barren but achingly beautiful shoreline. Her mother and father….no, Robert Queen hadn't been her father (That, like so many other thing had been a lie)…they hadn't denied her much, but they had never let her have a dog. She raised her chin and leveled her gaze at her real father…this man who asked her to do strange things, who had sought to level a whole section of her city. She should have been afraid of him, but she wasn't, because she had nothing left to lose. "He's mine," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, and was shocked when Malcolm nodded and turned back toward the kitchen without another word.

Thea turned back to the dog, who looked at her with baleful brown eyes. "Don't worry," she whispered, reaching down to stroke the silken black ears. "You aren't alone anymore."


	2. I need you in my bed

**A little late to the party, but based on Guggenheim's dialog tease from the Arrow Season 2.5 Comic on twitter.**

Awareness came to Oliver Queen like a freight train as he stood on Felicity's front stoop, watching her fumble to get her house key into the door. He had been uncharacteristically unfocused since the ARGUS plane from Hong Kong. He hadn't noticed Dig and Felicity's silent exchange as she led him off to the car, and he hadn't even considered where she was taking him. He had even dozed off in the car.

He, Oliver Queen, had _dozed off_. It was a testament both how exhausted he was and how much he trusted the woman who was now opening her front door. She threw her keys on the table in the entry way and immediately kicked off her shoes as if they were a hated object, sighing in relief as she did so. Only now did he realize that they were at her house-she had brought him _to her house_.

In that moment, he realized what a ridiculous excuse for a partner he must be. Because while this woman knew some of his worst secrets, and was one of the few people he trusted with his life, he had never set foot in her house before. They had been partners for well over a year, and he had never _once_ been over to her place. He felt a swirl of shame in his gut, especially when he considered how they had spent the past thirty-six hours or so. He had nearly given up. And then he had sent her directly into the lion's den. Worse yet, he had told her loved her, and then he had brushed it off as if it was a ploy, letting her ramble about how the thought of them together was unthinkable.

What was truly unthinkable was that he had _meant_ every single word of it, and yet he had never been to her home.

She must have realized he wasn't following her anymore, because she turned. Her eyes searched his, and whatever she saw there made her groan. She braced her hands on the door frame-one in and one out, and leaned her head against it. "Whatever you are thinking, just don't," she sighed.

She looked tired. More tired than he'd ever seen her before. Two transatlantic flights in the course of twenty-four hours could do that to a person. "I should go . . . " he started, but then trailed off. Where _would _he go, anyway?

"Go where?" She echoed. "I'm not going to sleep very well thinking about you sleeping in that . . . that," she flapped her hand tiredly in the air, a failed effort at her usual animation. "That _place_." She said it with disdain, and he knew that she was referring to the second base of operations that he had kept secret. He didn't know if the distaste laced her voice because of the condition of the facility, the fact that he hadn't told him about it, or simply because he had chosen that place to tell her that he was giving up. _"You can't just accept things, Oliver," _ she whispered in his memory. The here-and-now version of Felicity was still listing all the places he couldn't go. "The foundry is a mess, and your house . . ." She trailed off, and he didn't need to her to explain that one. His house was empty. Everyone he had shared it with was dead, except for Thea, who would probably never forgive him. " Your knee hurts, my head hurts, and for _once _no one is trying to kill us. You need rest. I need rest. I need you in my bed."

Oliver couldn't help the way the corner of his mouth lifted at her choice in words.

She groaned, gently dropping her head down on the door frame with a _thunk_. "Ughhh, my brain. What I mean is, I don't have a guest room, and you won't fit on the couch, so you can sleep on my bed, but we need to get some rest." She didn't look up at him as she turned around. "So either follow me, or don't, but I don't particularly feel like being alone right now."

He closed his eyes. _Neither did he_. How could she know what he needed before he did? It never ceased to amaze him, how she could read him so well. With a sigh, he followed her into the house.


	3. A City of Heroes

**I've been considering this one for awhile, prompted by comments the EPs have made about Laurel-"Is she her sister?" I know Laurel is a touchy point for many. Anyway, the promotional pics released of Sara, Roy and Oliver in costume finally prodded me to write this one down. Taking prompts on tumblr- chaos-is-welcome**

Laurel Lance pursed her lips as she watched the nightly news. It seemed that "The Canary" was back. The reporter on screen told an overly zealous narrative of how heroes dressed in green, red and black had stopped an attempt to take an entire train hostage.

Her sister was back in town, and she hadn't bothered to pay her a visit yet. But she was already back into the fold with Oliver and his team. She didn't understand how it had happened, that _everyone _in her life was directly in league with vigilante justice. Even her father, who had been promoted to captain of the force last night, played a huge roll in bringing justice to Starling City.

Sure, she got to "help" too. Once the Arrow brought them in, she made sure that the dirt of Starling City's underbelly stuck to them in a court of law, and that they went down for their crimes. But every other person got to be on the front lines. Oliver and Sara. Thea's criminal ex-boyfriend. Whom she had started dating after he _had stolen her purse_. Oliver's body guard, who always seemed to look at her with an edge of disdain in his eyes, despite his polite and calm demeanor. Even Oliver's technical analyst got to be closer to the action than she did. It didn't make sense, and it wasn't fair. She didn't want to be on the outside looking in, she wanted in on the action too. But no one would support her in that-not her father, not her sister, and certainly not Ollie and his _team_.

She powered off the television with a huff and walked to the kitchen. She knew all too well that there was a bottle of wine on the bottom shelf. She'd bought it after the Arrow had freed her from Slade-the night Slade had declared Ollie loved his little tech girl. That explained a few things, she supposed-not that he'd bothered to explain himself. Why start now? As usual, she was always the last person out of the dark in these matter. She'd thought of drinking it often in the months since then, but she'd worked too hard to pull herself out of the hole Tommy's death had put her in.

Just then, a card on the top of the stack she had brought home from the office caught her eye. A business card for the fighter-turned-philanthropist who had come to her office a few days ago seeking help for one of the at-risk youth he mentored. Ted Grant was a handsome man who happened to own a boxing gym for at risk youth. An idea formed, and she reached for the phone. Maybe there was another way for her to get the training she needed in the field . . .

"Hi, Ted? It's Laurel Lance, from the DA's office. Look this is going to sound strange, but you have any plans for this evening?"

Ten minutes later she was headed for Grant's gym in the Glades in her workout gear. She was tired of being on the outside looking in.


	4. The Long Road

**From the flash fiction prompt "Detour"**

The morning light spilled in through the window, waking Oliver. It was the first time in he didn't know how long that he woken up after the sun had risen. Of course, there was a reason for that-it had been nearly three am before they had made it back to Felicity's townhome, and later still before they had actually gone to bed. He could feel her heart beating under his hand, the soft warmth of her own hand covering his.

It had taken them entirely too long to get here. Years too long. They had been on a path to here ever since he had walked into her office and she had tilted her head at his bullshit. He had been so stubborn, so insistent on taking detour after detour away from her. But in the end, all roads had led back to her.

Her golden hair spilled over the pillow. She was facing him, peaceful in sleep. He closed his eyes and simply focused on her warmth and the warmth of the sun coming through the windows, the feeling of her heart beating its rhythm under his hand. For the life of him, he couldn't remember all the reasons they shouldn't be together, because this was too right. He felt too whole. He couldn't regret the long, painful road that had brought him here, or the detours that he had taken, because this was _home_. She was home.

When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him with her beautiful blue eyes, made all the more endearing by the fact she was squinting at him. She smiled. "This would be so much better if I could actually _see _you," she said, laughing.

_Home. _


	5. Hope (Can Be A Terrible Thing)

**I simply can't stop with the promo overload. The look on his face. It's the stuff they didn't show us, but that we have already seen that makes me want to cry my eyes out. This is quick and dirty. Also calls back Stephen's quote about "All hope is lost" at the end of the second act. Enjoy. **

**Spoilers for S3 so stop reading now if you don't want them.**

Oliver Queen thought he knew what it was to lose hope, but he really didn't understand till that night what "all hope is lost" really meant. Because he had forgotten what real, true, honest to goodness hope felt like.

Since he returned home, there had been moments that he had dared to hope. With Helena, with McKenna, and finally with Laurel, he had hoped for the normalcy of a relationship…of love. But there were always layers of lies and secrets padding that hope, so it had hurt less, somehow, when it had disappeared as fast as it had come in.

As he had watching his mother fall, knowing that his sister would hat him for bringing Slade into his life, he thought he had lost everything….that there was nothing else to pull him back from the darkness. There was no more hope, at least not for him.

But John and Felicity, they hadn't given up on him…they had pulled him back from the edge, stood by him, and demanded that he fight back. They wouldn't lose hope in him, even though he had lost it in himself. So hope had lived on.

This time was different, because for the past few weeks, he had felt like he had everything. Like nothing in the world could stop him. He almost had the company back, although Ray Palmer had certainly put a damper on that. John was a FATHER. That little tiny girl, with her delicate fingers, her mother's eyes and her father's nose was a miracle if he had ever seen one. And he had Felicity….really had her. There were no lies or unspoken half-truths. There were no sins of omission. She had sat across from him at that table tonight with love and understanding shining in her eyes as he had told her the absolute worst of it. She had taken it in and moved on from it without a second thought, and realized he could have it all with her. He could be himself with her, the man that no one else seemed to see between the hood and the mask of his previous life.

He had forgotten what true hope of a future had felt like., until that moment. And in that fleeting moment, he could see it all in her eyes. White dressed, picket fences, and happily ever afters. Saving the city with her forever by his side, and then in his bed. No longer facing long nights alone with his demons.

But then the world had exploded in a ball of flame and fire, and just as quickly as it had come, hope was gone. Because she was laying bleeding and broken before him, and her blood was under his fingernails. She was going to be fine, but he knew now that he could not lose her…it wasn't something he could survive. He couldn't lose either of them-her or John-because they made him who he was. He had never had their blood on his hands before and he knew that it could never, ever happen again. It was made infinitely worse by the fact that he had let the hope in. He knew how she tasted now, knew what they could have had.

But it didn't matter, because when she woke up, he would tell her they couldn't do this. Felicity would understand…she always understood. He would hurt her again, and she would try to hide it (again), because she knew he hurt himself more. She always knew. She always understood. She deserved more. And eventually, some day she would find it, but he understood now more than ever that it couldn't be with him. Because loving him was a death sentence, and he wanted more for her more than he wanted anything for himself. So someday he would watch her live the life he had imagined…but with someone else.

Hope was a terrible thing.


	6. The Offer

While chapters in this collection aren't connected, I wanted to write this little oneshot before I do a couple others I have planned. Because I do think Felicity will end up working for Ray this season. So here's my attempt at that. Enjoy!

xxxx

Felicity despised when her new job called her in for the night shift. One of the reasons she has chosen a simple job at Tech Jungle, instead of a regular nine to five job, was because she_ missed _sleep. She had slept more in the past five months at this job than she had since she entered college, and certainly more than she had since Oliver Queen had turned her life on its head. Not that she was complaining, because she enjoyed what she did with him...they made a real difference in the city. But coming home at 3am and being due at the office before nine didn't leave much room for sleep. The only problem with the job as a technical associate at this hole in the wall computer shop was when they called her in for an evening shift...it made it difficult to help Oliver and Roy in the field when she was supposed to be "assisting customers." They had managed without major incident thus far, but every time she ran an op from the store's pitifully small computer screen, she felt like they were pushing their luck.

Thankfully, Starling City's criminal underbelly was quiet on that particular Thursday night. Roy and Oliver were at the foundry, rather than in the field, and John was home with his delightful baby girl, who had only been home for about a week. She supposed Lyla and he were taking sleep deprived to an entirely different level as they attempted to adjust to life with a newborn. The store was closing in less than ten minutes, and Felicity felt like they might make it through yet another night without a major catastrophe or bloodshed. Which was good, because she had experienced more of than enough of that in the past few weeks.

She turned to power off the store's computers, wondering if Roy would come to pick her up again. When things were slow in the field, he would often come to get her when she got off work...she supposed the early nights made the memories of what he had lost a bit more sharp. Although Roy rarely spoke about Thea, and didn't know the extent of how badly things had truly gone between them in his Mirakuru haze, it was clear that he missed her. So Felicity had no problem grabbing a late night snack with the younger man on occasion, especially when she could sleep in until nine.

The door chimed and she turned, smiling, a quip for Roy on her tounge. The words died in her throat and she did a double take at the tall, dark, all-too-familiar man who was striding toward her, eyebrow raised in challenge. He had lost the suit from last week's meeting (and numerous subsequent television interviews) in favor of jeans and a deep blue polo. For the life of her, Felicity could not think of a single reason that Ray Palmer would be in a computer shop at 10:55 pm on a Thursday night. "Can I help you?" She asked, trying to sound pleasant. This man, while incredibly attractive, had swept in and slid Oliver's company out of reach yet again. He was not, in her mind, a friendly face.

"You, Ms. Smoak, are a bit of an enigma," he said, leaning casually on the counter as if they were old acquaintances.

She pursed her lips. "Mr. Palmer..." She began, unsure of what to say or what on earth he meant.

"Please, call me Ray," he interrupted eyebrow again.

Felicity was utterly confused. "Why are you here, at nearly eleven o'clock at night, when you have an _entire department_ that is better equipped than this store to solve whatever problem you are having? Not to mention I am sure you have people to do things like this for you...I have experience with billionaires, you know, and they don't run menial errands." She cleared her throat, realizing she might have said more than she intended.

"I am here," he said slowly, "because you aren't in the IT department anymore."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. She was fairly certain her mouth was hanging open. "If that's a pickup line, you need some work."

He chuckled. "I looked in to you, you know," he said, dark brown eyes holding her gaze. "You were entirely overqualified to be working in IT at QC. And then IT to EA to the CEO. Well, that's not your typical career path."

Felicity felt her mouth open again. What on earth was this man going for?

"Of course, you may not be aware but the rumor at QC is that you and Queen.."

She threw her hand up, stopping him. "Oh, no thanks. I don't need a recap. I am well aware what people think, and i don't care. Now, Mr. Palmer..." There was no way she was calling this man by his first name. She supposed that this would have been similar to what Oliver would have grown into, had he not ended up in Lian Yu-cocky and self-assured, and a bit of an ass. "Was there something I could do for you?" She nearly groaned as soon as the words we're out of her mouth, wishing she had chosen different words.

He grinned at her. "I was getting there," he said. "I was intrigued that Queen brought you to the board meeting last week. Billionaires trying to get their company back usually don't bring their play things to board meetings-believe me, I would know. And you certainly aren't his secretary anymore. So I looked in to you, Felicity."

_Oh_ great.

"it seems like Queen trusts you, and you have taken jobs that are beneath you for years. I was wondering if you might like to rectify that.". She felt like she was doing that fish-out-of-water thing again as she gaped at him. "I want to open a new sector in applied sciences, a tech division."

"The Applied Sciences Building was destroyed..." she blurted. She kept the "because I blew it up with my team of vigilantes" to herself, of course.

He laughed. "I'm well aware of that, thanks. But I want to rebuild it. And expand I nto the tech sector. But I need someone I trust to oversee it." He raised the eyebrow again, as of waiting for a response.

"Wait, me?" Felicity asked in disbelief. "You don't even know me. You don't know you can trust me."

"No, but Queen trusts you. And at the end of the day, it's still his company."

Felicity tilted her head at him. "That you control," she pointed out.

He shrugged, flashing the grin again. "Well, yes." He pulled out w card from his pocket and slid it in front of her. "I need to name someone for the position in the next two weeks. If you want it, it's yours. You worked hard at MIT. This is your chance to make a difference with that knowledge."

She almost laughed out loud, wondering what charming Ray Palmer would think if he knew what she really did with the things she learned from MIT.

"My private line is on the back," he said, standing upright. "I hope to hear from you soon."

She gapped at the card as the front door dinged once, and then again. Roy's voice broke through her muddled brain. "Hey, wasn't that..."

She threw a hand in his direction. "Not one word, Harper! Not. One. Word."

Roy laughed. "Okay then. Dinner?"

"Yes. And a drink." A glass of wine was definitely in order after that weirdness. "For me. Not for you, because you still aren't 21."

"Whatever you say, Felicity," he chuckled, holding the door open for her. She locked up, and they headed out. Making life altering decisions was better saved for daytime hours anyway.


	7. One Touch

**Melfeb211 prompted: "Oliver see Ray Palmer touching Felicity for the first time."**

It was unbelievable that in less than a month as CEO of Queen Consolidated, Ray Palmer was re-opening the Robert Queen Memorial Applied Sciences Division. The fact that another man had rebuilt not only _his family's_ company, but also the building that had been erected in his father's name, stung more than he cared to admit. It was made worse that every single aspect of the Applied Sciences Division reeked of his failures and poor choices. His faked drunken display at the ground breaking, back when he was doing all of this alone and he was certain that the could not balance his mission with a day job. He had been right, thinking that, because look at what had happened when he _had _tried to juggle both. He had handed the company over to his father's mistress (whom he had screwed), his enemy had used Applied Sciences to further his villainous plan, and he had ended up _demolishing_ the building that had been built in his father's name. And then in comes Palmer, seemlessly and effortlessly doing all of the things he had failed to do. Which was why he was standing here, in the lobby on the new building, in a tuxedo. He hated parties, and he hated company parties even more. The employees all glanced sideways at him, and he was sure the topic of conversation tonight would be Palmer's ability to do what he hadn't. Not that he really cared . . . but it stung.

He saw Felicity then and she felt like a breath of fresh air, even from across the room. She was wearing a floor-length peach gown, standing out like a beautiful sore thumb in the sea of black formal wear. He _missed__ her. _In the weeks since she had taken Palmer's job offer, he had rarely seen her. Often he and Roy were already in the field before she made it to the foundry. As soon as they were finished for the night, she went home, because her alarm was set for seven again and she had to get what sleep she could. She smiled when she saw him, and started working her way across the crowd in his direction. It was a slow process-guests stopped her frequently, congratulating her on the progress she had already made in the tech division. In just a few weeks, she had secured three government contracts and brought in four recent graduates from various schools with excellent skills. She was thriving in this new position Palmer had given her, and that stung a bit, too. Because he had shoe-horned her into something that didn't fit, out of his own need.

"Queen!" He turned toward the voice, and saw Ray Palmer heading his way. "Glad you could make it."

The tall man extended his hand, and Oliver shook it. "Congratulations," Oliver said, "You've already made a lot of progress."

Felicity made it to them then, tilting her face up to smile at them both, despite her heels. "Ol. . . Mr. Queen, Mr. Palmer, so nice to see you both." Her eyes met and held Oliver's, and he saw a bit of consternation there. She didn't care for events like this, either, he remembered.

Ray Palmer was flat out grinning at her, and Oliver didn't particularly like it. "Felicity, if you have a minute, there are some investors I would like you to meet." Oliver watched as Palmer reached out, taking her elbow, his thumb ever so slightly brushing against her smooth skin as he turned her in the direction of the investors.

"Of course," she said, but she cast a look at him over her shoulder that seemed to say _I'll see you later_.

He had to swallow against the lump in his throat. It had been such a simple touch, but it was the sort of thing he had always done when he needed to pull her aside for something. It seemed like Ray Palmer was taking all that was his, and exceeding expectations with it. Queen Consolidated was thriving, Felicity was happy to have a position that actually allowed her to use the full measure of her brain. The worst of it was that Ray Palmer seemed to be a good man. Oliver couldn't bring himself to hate him simply because he managed to succeed where Oliver had failed. But he didn't like him, either.

He watched as Palmer weaved through the crowd, his hand still on Felicity's elbow. Oliver reminded himself that as much as he cared for her, Felicity wasn't his. She could never be his.


	8. Seven Years

_"Your heart is full of broken dreams, just a fading memory  
>And everything's gone, but the pain carries on.<br>Lost in the rain again, when will it ever end?"  
>-Red, "Not Alone"<em>

Felicity Smoak still missed the late morning wake-up that her job at Tech Jungle had allowed. Waking up at seven every morning, after staying out until midnight or later assisting Oliver, was a bit of a challenge. As a result, her mornings were always a little rushed. Since taking Ray Palmer's job offer, she had begun listening to the news in the back ground as she got ready for the day. She missed the simple luxury of sitting down to watch the news with a cup of coffee, but there simply wasn't time for that any more. She was brushing her teeth, listening to a soft morning rain fall on the tiled roof of her townhouse, when she heard the newscaster segue into a story about the Queen's Gambit.

_"In other news, today marks the seven year anniversary of the sinking of the Queen's Gambit."_ Felicity found herself in the living room, staring at the TV as a picture of the yacht flashed on screen, followed by a picture of Oliver and his father. _"Robert Queen, his son Oliver, and five other individuals, including Sara Lance, were believed to have died in the sinking of the yacht. Miraculously, Oliver Queen returned to Starling City five years after the yacht sank, having survived on an island in the South China Sea. Ms. Lance also returned to Starling City the following year, although her return was less public than Queen's, who has always been a publicity hound." _The footage switched to their favorite collection of what she liked to think of as "The Best of Ollie Queen." Her tooth brush still hung from her mouth, forgotten for the moment. _"The Queens, once a staple among the Starling City elite, have fallen on hard times since Oliver Queen's return. Moira Queen admitted involvement in the conspiracy that resulted in the Starling City Quake in 2013, which leveled a portion of the city and killed over 500 people. Mrs. Queen stood trial, was acquitted, and subsequently ran for mayor. Thea Queen was kidnapped in a very public manner during a debate, and a few weeks later Moira Queen was murdered by Slade Wilson, the mastermind behind the May attack on Starling City, from which the city is still recovering. Oliver Queen lost control of his family's company and a large portion of his wealth, completing the family's fall from grace." _Another picture of Robert Queen flashed on screen, this time with the dates of his birth and death. The camera panned back to the anchor's desk, and a small but beautiful woman raised her eyebrows. _"I suppose it's fortunate Robert Queen isn't around to see what has become of his family legacy."_ Felicity felt anger well inside her, and immediately thought of Oliver, hoping that he hadn't seen this. The anchor turned to another camera, smiling brightly. _"Now, to weather. It's going to be a rainy day, isn't it, Joan?"_

Felicity turned the television off in disgust, grabbing her phone as she rushed to the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. She hadn't seen much of Oliver since taking the new job at Queen Consolidated. They had spoken a few words here and there, aside from during ops, and there was a part of her that had been grateful for the respite. There was so much between them now, and it _hurt_ to be close to him knowing that they couldn't move forward. But she also missed the quiet moments they used to share. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she worried that he once again felt that he had to carry everything alone. Three unanswered texts and two phone calls later, Felicity was knew something was wrong. She grabbed her tablet and pulled up his tracker, groaning when an error message appeared. The idiot had turned his tracker off. She grabbed her jacket and headed out into the rain.

xxx

He heard her behind him, even over the endless patter of the rain. He didn't turn around, though. Instead, he surveyed the harbor, beautiful in the menacing darkness of the storm. The heavy grey clouds hung low in the sky as they dropped an increasingly heavy rain, turning the water black despite the fact that it was only mid-morning. Lightening occasionally flashed in the distance, and thunder rumbled. The beautiful yachts stood like white sentries against the darkness, looking deceptively steady through the storm. He knew, of course, that they too would sink quickly and without warning.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but eventually she reached up and touched his shoulder as she came to stand beside him. She still didn't say anything though. That was one of the things that made her so special-she didn't demand answers when he couldn't give them. She was just as capable of waiting in silence as she was of filling the silence with nonsensical babbling. He should have known that she could find him. It seemed she always did. He felt grateful that she had, and angry at himself for feeling that way. It was better that she didn't care enough to look. But as the rain continued to fall, he was just _so damn glad_ that he wasn't alone anymore.

When he finally spoke, it came out angrier than he had intended. His voice was deep and scratchy and closer to the Arrow's than his own. "Isn't Palmer expecting you?"

Her hand slid down in to his. "I called off, Oliver. You saw?" She talked carefully, quietly, as if speaking to a wounded animal. Which in a way, she was.

"How did you know I'd be here?" He asked, because it was easier than talking about the rest of it.

"Slade," she said. "You came here when you wanted to surrender to Slade." He closed his eyes, remembering how he had been so ready to give up, to turn himself over to end it. He hadn't thought about what it would mean for them when he did that...It had been the only solution he could think of at the time. But she and Dig hadn't let him, they had drugged him and taken him home and told him he couldn't give up the fight. They had brought Laurel in, and she had given him the piece of information that he needed to find the energy to continue fighting.

He nodded, using her hand to pull her closer, so that he could face her. She was soaking wet, her black rain jacket buttoned to the collar. Water flecked her glasses, but her clear blue eyes held his, compassion and worry filling them. He swallowed. "I had forgotten," he said softly. "Until I saw the story, I had forgotten that the anniversary was coming. Time ceased to matter once the Gambit went down. I wasnt even really aware of the date." He remembered what a relief it had been, telling her some of his secrets that night at dinner. Before the blood and the smoke and the pain. He had told her the worst of it and it hadn't changed the way she looked at him. But it had changed _him_, made him lighter. Less afraid. A little less buried under everything he carried. He wondered if it might help now, too.

"Just because you didn't remember the anniversary doesn't mean you don't remember him, that you don't _honor_ him," she said slowly.

"Doesn't it?" He growled, looking down at her. "Because I have lost every damn thing, Felicity. Mom, Thea, the company. Its all gone. I couldn't protect them."

Her other hand came up and held his arm, applying pressure, letting him know he wasn't alone. "Oliver . . ."

He looked down at her, and he just let it out. "He shot himself in front of me," he said quickly. He watched her eyes widen, but he had to get it out before he changed his mind. "He told me he wasn't the man I thought he was, then he murdered the steward who was in the life raft with us. And then he told me to survive, and he killed himself." Her mouth fell open a bit at that, but he pushed on. "He killed himself, hoping that I would survive, and I have let every last bit of his legacy waste away."

"No," she said sharply, shaking her head. "You are his legacy Oliver. He didn't do that for the company, he did it for you." He noticed she didn't mention his mother or his sister...because what was there to say? They were gone. "You are still here, you are still making a difference in this city. He would be proud." She said it with such conviction, he had to remind himself she had never actually met his father. She held his gaze, as if trying to will him to believe what she said what was true. Eventually he looked away, and he felt the hand on his wrist drop away, though she continued to hold his hand in hers. A lifeline to the present-to all that was left in him that could be construed as good.

Oliver gazed back out over the harbor, introspective. He had spent a lot of time that morning remembering the days after his father died. All of the terrible little details that he had carried with him. For seven years, apparently. 2,555 days. More hours than he cared to calculate. He looked down at her again, but she was looking over the water, her thumb stroking across his hand. And _DAMN IT ALL_ he wanted to tell her. He knew it wasn't fair, and he had already told her more than enough. It was selfish to want to share this, because it would be nothing but a burden to her. But christ, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to share that dark moment, that first loss, because at the time, it had seemed like it was as bad as it could possibly be.

So he told her. Gazing out over the harbor in the pouring rain, he told her about it all-swimming to the island from the raft. Finding the raft the following day, washed ashore with his father's body still inside. The putrid smell overwhelming him as he tried to scare the gulls away, and the horror as he realized that they had pecked away portions of his father's rotting skin. How he vomited on the beach before carrying his body to the hilltop, burying him under the rocks. How he had been so young and naive to think that was the worst thing that he would experience. Never knowing that it was only the beginning of the death that would haunt him. She never spoke, but he heard her sniff, and saw the faint movement as she wiped under her glasses. He knew that if he asked, she would say it was only the rain. He told her how, as he had placed the final rock and said his final goodbye, Yao Fei's arrow had found his shoulder, giving him his first scar.

She turned to him them, her right hand still holding his left, and pressed her left hand over the huge circular scar on his right shoulder. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she stared up at him with conviction that he didn't feel he deserved. "You survived," she said again. "Just like he wanted you to, Oliver. He didn't want you to do everything, he _just wanted you survive._"

A small section of hair had fallen from her pony tail, dripping with rain. Against his better judgement, he reached up and gently swept it behind her ear. As he did so, he caught sight of the thin white scar just above her ear along her hairline, left by the shrapnel that had knocked her unconscious and spilled her blood on that night in early October. He caressed it with his thumb, watching as her eyes drifted closed. The memory of how she received that scar made him bite back the declaration that was ready to spill out of his lips. _I love you_. And he did. But he couldn't do that to her. Because next time it would be worse. "Thank you," he said. _For coming. For believing. _

"Always," she said, and the sincerity was far more than he deserved. "We should go. Dig will want to know that I found you and brought you back in one piece." With a gentle pull on the hand she still held, she pulled him toward his car. As the rain continued to fall, he realized he felt lighter.

He slept better that night than he had in a long while. He didn't know that across town, Felicity cried herself to sleep for the first time since she was 7. She hurt, because he had hurt alone for too long.

_"I am here . . . I am with you._  
><em>I will carry you through it all.<em>  
><em>I won't leave you, I will catch you<em>  
><em>When you feel like letting go,<em>

_You are not alone._  
><em>I will be your home. (When you feel like its over)<em>  
><em>I will pick you up. (When your whole world shatters)"<em>


	9. Restraint

**Thank you for the kind reviews! The last chapter (Seven Years) didn't bump the story up on the FF page, so be sure you didn't miss it. Its angsty and heavy and I think thats kind of what we can expect this season.**

**From SmoakandArrow's flash fiction prompt: ****_Impulses_**

Oliver Queen had always been a slave to impulse. He supposed that it came from his privileged upbringing-he simply did as he wanted without any consideration for the consequences. He took what, and _who _he wanted, with little regard for who he hurt. When he returned to Starling City, he considered himself to be measured, calculating and careful. But apparently five years in hell couldn't make you forget your youthful ignorance, because he was still impulsive. He recognized that most of his erratic behavior since returning stemmed directly from the challenge of living a double life. His decision to sleep with Helena and Laurel were exhibits A and B. When he had first returned, there was still a part of him that was the impulsive child who had left.

He thought of all of this as he came down the stairs of the foundry to see Felicity sitting in her chair, which was a fairly normal sight. Except tonight, she was supposed to be on a date with Ray Palmer. He and Roy had headed out into the field for a simple surveillance operation. Things were quiet, and the kid was keeping watch for a few more hours. Oliver had decided to return to the foundry, feeling off center for reasons he couldn't explain. He slowed when he saw her, and that impulsive part of himself that still lived on was glad that things apparently hadn't gone well.

Of course, she wasn't covered in blood and soot, or laying unconscious on a metal table, so even though it ended early this date had to have gone better than her last one . . . with _him_. She deserved a chance at a normal life, and Ray Palmer had managed to succeed in areas where we had failed. There was a part of Oliver that recognized Palmer would be good for her, would be _good to her_. And he also was far less likely to get her killed than Oliver was. So he shouldn't have felt relief to see her sitting there, but he did.

She was wearing a blue spaghetti strap dress that brought out her eyes. She didn't turn as she heard him, simply continuing to type at the keyboard. There was a time that he would have walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder as he asked her what had happened. But these days, it was better to keep as much space between him and Felicity as possible. There was a very real concern that if he touched her again, he wouldn't be able to stop, and that was something he didn't want to risk.

"Hey," he said softly.

She turned and smiled. "Everything go okay?"

"Roy is still out there," he said, which was unnecessary since one of her screens contained a blip with Roy's tracker and security footage in the area. "It was quiet-no new intel or movement from the Triad." China White was expected to be released from prison next week, and they were carefully monitoring the organization, which had been dormant since her arrest, for movement.

Oliver waited, hoping that Felicity would say something without him asking, but she went back to her computers. He tilted his head at her and exhaled. "What happened with Palmer, Felicity?"

Her hands stilled on the keyboard and she rubbed her palms together.

"It was a bad idea," she said after a moment, and then went back to typing.

He waited, but that was all she seemed to want to say. That impulsive part of him wanted to know _why _it was a bad idea, wanted to know what was going on in that brilliant head of hers. "Because . . . " he prompted.

Felicity sighed in exasperation, spinning her chair to face him. "Because he isn't you, Oliver. He is kind and thoughtful, and gloriously without heavy baggage, but he isn't you, and apparently that's a deal breaker for me."

He took a step towards her, trying to win the war over the part of himself that was pleased at this latest development. Ray Palmer had succeeded where Oliver had failed with Queen Consolidated, and it was refreshing that Felicity hadn't found him so easily replaceable. But she also deserved a life beyond these walls. "Felicity . . . " he started.

"No, Oliver, I get it," she said, standing up. "This doesn't change anything, and that's okay. But I was sitting there, and it should have been perfect, but it wasn't. _This_," she said gesturing around them, and then between them. "This is enough. This is more than enough for me."

Again, two emotions warred in Oliver-relief, and a sense of foreboding, both brought on by the fact that she wouldn't so easily move on. But if she didn't move on, it would be harder to stay away. It was already harder than it should have been. The impulsive part of him wanted to reach for her, but he knew that when he finally did that again, it couldn't be out of impulse. _When_ (and sometimes he wondered if it truly was a matter of when, not if) he finally reached for her again, he had to be willing to accept the ramifications, because there would be no going back.

"You go," she said softly. "I'll wait for Roy."

He wished her goodnight and did as she asked, because it was better that way.


	10. Backslide

**Major Season 3 spoilers/speculation ahead. Melfeb211 prompted "Diggle talks to Oliver after he finds out Oliver has told Felicity he can't be with her." Not quiet that, but we got to talking on the Fanforum spoilers board where Diggle is when Oliver brings Felicity back to the lair after things go boom. And then this just sorta happened. Changing the rating to T, because in my head canon, Dig gets a little expressive when things are tense. **

John Diggle awoke with a start, and it took him a moment to remember why the antiseptic smell of hospital was surrounding him. For once, that smell wasn't there because of pain and blood and destruction. The cloying scent of industrial strength cleaners and sterilization meant something entirely different. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could make up Lyla's form in the hospital bed, curled on her side with her hand extended in to the small, see-through bassinet. She had fallen asleep with her hand over little Andi's tiny, pink-capped head. His daughter's tiny little hands were fisted on either side of her head, face turned in the direction of her mother as her mouth made little tiny sucking motions. He could hardly believe that they had made this tiny, perfect little girl, with cafe au lait skin and Lyla's eyes. He was someone's _father_ now. It shouldn't have been that different from being someone's uncle or brother, but it was. It was worlds and worlds beyond anything that he would have expected it to be.

He pressed a gentle kiss on each of his girls' heads, then headed down to the cafeteria. It was after midnight, but he wanted coffee and a snack. In all the excitement of the birth, things like sustenance had been forgotten. As he waited in the surprisingly busy cafeteria, a flash on the television screen caught his attention. A reporter stood in front of a caution tape in front of a smoking building, with firefighters and police working in the background. _Bombing at Demaggios, _the headline at the bottom read. Dig felt his stomach drop out, remembering Oliver's playful banter from the op in the early hours of the morning the previous day. _"How about Italian? Everyone likes Italian." _He pulled out his phone. No messages, no missed calls. He dialed Felicity, and then Oliver, with the same result. Straight to voicemail. He cursed, and tried Roy.

The kid picked up, but it was silent at the end. "What happened, Roy?" Dig ground out. Because he _knew _something had to have happened. He heard silence. The kid swallowing. "How BAD, Roy?" he nearly roared.

"It's bad," he said. "They are okay, Diggle, but it's bad."

Dig cursed. "You're at the foundry?" As soon as the kid gave an affirmative, he was headed for the exit.

xxx

He wasn't sure what to expect when he came down the stairs, but it wasn't Felicity, unconscious on the table. He descended the stairs slowly, taking her in. She looked small and broken, swamped in one of Oliver's hoodies. Roy stood up from the chair he had pulled next to her, but he didn't let go of her hand. Dig cursed as he caught side of the bruises on her face, the butterfly bandage covering four carefully formed stitches along her hairline. Vestiges of soot and blood clung to her skin. He glanced to the waste bin and saw a ruined flash of red among gauze peppered with red and black. He closed his eyes as he thought about Oliver cleaning her up, stitching her up. For the first time, he became aware of the other man's absence. He swore vehemently as his eyes moved over the two empty cases across the room. The suit and the bow were gone.

"What the _actual fuck_, Roy!" He yelled.

Roy looked down at Felicity, his forehead scrunching up as if he was making a difficult decision. "He didn't want to bother you with this, because of the baby." Dig glared at him, then moved to the computer, pulling up Oliver's tracker as Roy continued to fill him in. "He called me to come stay with her, and then he took off."

Dig thought another string of curses as he located Oliver, across town in the neighborhood they believed Vertigo was once again being manufactured. "How long?" Dig asked.

"Maybe half an hour."

_Fuck. _"How was he when he left?"

Roy met his eyes. "Angry. Shaken." He paused, his jaw working, regret swimming in his eyes. "I should have called you."

Dig nodded. "Yeah. That's the understatement of the century, kid." With a few keystrokes, he sent the tracking information to his phone. He went to Felicity then, still unable to believe how small and pale she looked on the table. He leaned down, running a hand through her still blood-matted hair. Christ, she must have been a mess when he brought her down here, for him to have cleaned her up and for her to still have that much blood in her hair. His stomach turned at the thought. "Don't you worry, Felicity," he whispered to her. "I'll get him back here for you. Just get better, okay?" He glanced at Roy. "You take care of her." The kid raised an eyebrow, as if to question what _else_ he was going to do.

He grabbed a balaclava and a few extra items from the weapons case, as well as a syringe full of the antidote they had worked up for the latest version of Vertigo that was circulating, then headed back to the stairs. As he climbed into the car, he sent Lyla a quick text. _Code Black_. Two words, but they carried a hundred words along with them. _The shit has hit the fan. Back when I can. I love you. _ The drive across town was usually twenty minutes, but he made it in ten. He glanced at his phone, pinpointing Oliver to a warehouse two blocks up. He found his bike and parked behind it. Pulling on the balaclava, he drew his gun and headed in the direction of Oliver's blip.

It wasn't long before he heard gunfire, and Diggle segued into battle mode. He focused on everything around him as he entered what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. He cleared the hall and moved in the direction of the blip, wishing that Felicity was in his ear giving him intel on what he was walking into. He heard a shout that sounded like Oliver, and resisted the urge to run to help his friend. _Cautious means living to see another day_. He finally made it into a large, cavernous room that looked like a factory floor. It opened to the roof, with a second story landing surrounding the room. An eerie blue light shone from the second floor. He could see Oliver on the landing on the north side, fighting with at least three goons. Dig located the staircase, looking for hostiles. It was clear, and _now _he ran. Soon he was on the second story and engaging the enemy. Kick, hit, shoot. A hostile came close to getting a point blank shot off on Oliver, but Dig leveled him with a bullet. They were beginning to come out on top when he felt and unexpected blow to his head, and heard Oliver bellowing his name. Something was wrong about that, but he couldn't place what.

When he came to, Oliver was dragging him down the stairs. Oliver stumbled, braced himself against the wall for a moment, stumbled on. That didn't seem right either. He brought a hand up to his head, feeling the bump there. "We clear?" He groaned.

Oliver looked at him, and Dig realized something defiantly wasn't right. His pupils were dilated, his eyes hazy. _Fuck_. He had probably been dosed with vertigo. "I have the antedote in the car," he said.

Oliver nodded as he stumbled forward again, trying to move them further down the stairs. "Thas a good thing," Oliver slurred. Dig tried to take on more of the younger man's weight to expedite their exit. The building was eerily quiet now.

Dig felt the cool chill of the early morning air on his face as he pulled Oliver out into the street and toward the car. He shoved him in the passenger seat, then reached back into his bag for the syringe. He jammed it into Oliver's leg, then climbed into the front seat. He sent a message to Sara, who was thankfully back in town, asking her to recover the bike. (And why the hell Oliver hadn't at least thought to call her, Diggle didn't know.) He looked over at Oliver as he pulled away, realizing he had passed out. He reached over to push down the hood and take off the mask, just in case anyone could see through the car's darkly tinted windows.

They were only a few minutes from the foundry when Oliver came to with a start. "Easy," Dig said, sparing a glance from the road as he reached to touch his friend's shoulder. "We're clear."

Oliver closed his eyes and sunk back in the seat. "Christ, Diggle, I thought you were dead," he said. Dig realized _that _was what had been so off when he had gotten knocked out. Oliver, in his drug addled state, had yelled his name. Without the affects of the drug, he would have known it was nothing serious, other than something that would leave him with a hell of a headache later. Of course, that probably would not have happened if he hadn't gone in blind, without backup.

"What the _hell_, Oliver," he said. "You should have called."

Oliver swallowed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "You just had a baby."

"And Felicity is laying on the table in the foundry. I think that warrants a call."

Oliver's jaw worked as he closed his eyes again. When he opened them, Dig could see that things were going to be bad, even in the dim light of the car.

"It was ridiculous to think that I could be who I am, and have a life too."

Shit. "What happened Oliver."

"She could have died. I _literally _had her blood on my hands, and it wouldn't have taken much more . . . she could have been gone. _You _could have died. You have a family of your own to think about now."

"And you could die any given day of the week. That's not really anything new for us."

Oliver just turned and looked out the window. Dig could see all the progress he had made in the past few months slipping away before his eyes. He was going to pull the plug on this thing with Felicity. They would be lucky if that was all that he did.


	11. Too Close

She was stretched out across him, her head resting on his chest. Her legs were tangled with his in a mess of sheets, and her hair spilled across his chest. He couldn't seem to stop touching her. It had been so close. _Too close. _For the hundredth time in less than an hour, his fingers traced the outline of the bandage that covered the wound on her back. If the knife had been a few inches in either direction, it would have punctured a lung instead of glancing of her rib. And then she probably wouldn't be here, safe and warm in his arms. His fingers moved over her back, memorizing every curve and contour . . . savoring the softness.

She sighed, her breath feathering lightly over his chest. "Oliver . . . " she said softly. His fingers stilled as she pressed up, squinting as she gazed up at him. He reached out without looking away from her, grabbing her glasses. Once, she had told him how frustrating it was to not be able to see his face, during moments like this when she had removed her glasses. She smiled as he handed them to her, and he felt the corner of his mouth lift. "Better, thanks. Now whatever you're thinking . . ."

He exhaled heavily. They hadn't really talked about it. He didn't really want to. It could have gone the other way, and he was thankful as hell that it hadn't, because he honestly had no idea what he would have done. She had downplayed it when it had happened, and it hadn't even been that serious, but it _could have been_. "Felicity . . ."

She looked at him earnestly, and there was a sudden sadness in them. "If something ever happens to me, you can't blame yourself."

He snorted at that, looking away from her and up at the ceiling.

"No Oliver, I'm serious. You _can't_."

He shifted his gaze down at her again, unable to keep the intensity out of his voice. "If something ever happens to you, it _will be my fault."_

She pressed herself into a sitting position next to him, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. She just stared at him, her eyes boring in to his. Her hair surrounded her, and it occurred to him how few people saw her with her hair down unless she was dressed up. He reached up and caressed her cheek, completely unable to refrain from touching her after the way things had gone down earlier.

Her eyes closed and she tilted her face into his palm. She slowly shook her head from side to side. "No, Oliver," she said opening her eyes. "My life, my choice, remember?"

And then she kissed him again, murmuring words of love and hope and peace. He took what she offered, then he held on her tight as the first rays of dawn filtered through her windows, as sleep finally overtook her. His fingers returned to her back, mapping her skin.

_Please, don't ever let it come to that. Please._


	12. Pillars

_So, having a hard time processing that premiere. BIG TIME SPOILERS for 3x01. The quotes from the 3x02 promo did all sorts of awful things to me. If you think about it, Oliver Queen has never had a real chance to grieve any of the people he has lost. And he has probably never had the comfort of someone comforting him while he grieved. So yeah, angst fest. _

Oliver sat with his back against a pillar on the foundry, the cold of the floor numbing him as the darkness enveloped him, wishing the cold and the dark would numb the physical pain. He balanced his bow between his hands, trying not to think of Sara laying on the med bay table not twenty-four hours before, eyes staring unseeing to the ceiling, with three black arrows sticking out of her stomach. He tried not to think about Laurel's face a few hours ago as she had unloaded an entire clip into the hooded assassin known as Komodo. He knew that look, recognized it from the face he had seen in the mirror for a long time. The face of someone who had lost hope in justice and righteousness; the face of someone who had killed in cold blood. He still remembered how it had felt that first time, when he had bashed that man's head in with a rock on the island. . . the way the blood had sprayed against his face and covered his hands, but he just hadn't been able to stop. It had felt too good to release the rage and the anger. The one thing he had managed to not destroy in Laurel, her sense of justice and righteousness, was now washed away along with her innocence and trust. His fault. Sara was dead, _really dead_, along with Shado and Yao Fe, Tommy, his mother, his father, Maseo and his entire family. . . the list would never end. He knew that the longer he fought, the longer he continued, the more people he would lose.

The list of people he _could _lose was getting ridiculously short. He remembered the ghost of Shado's voice. _"Lay down your bow. Quit fighting. Or everyone you love will die." _The first time he had sat against this pillar after returning home, it had been the realization that for the first time in _years_, he had things to lose again. It had been three months after he had come home, and he was recovering from his first meeting with Malcolm Merlyn. Of course, he hadn't know it was Merlyn then, he had known him simply as the Dark Archer. Merlyn had bested him, and had it not been for Diggle getting him to a hospital, he probably would have died. It hadn't been his first brush with death, but it was the first time in a long time that he realized his dying would affect people. His family had just gotten him back, and they would lose if he died. _He_ had something to lose. And that had scared the shit out of him. That knowledge had nearly immobilized him with fear on his first night back under the hood, and he had sat in this very spot ruminating on that. It had been John who had pulled him out of it, that time. _"You can either have something to fight for, or not. Something to fight for is better._"

The next time he had sat against the pillar was three months later, and it had been Felicity who had found him. That had been the night he had realized that Diggle had been right, and that his mother was complicit in his step-father's disappearance. The night that he had realized his mother may have played a part in the accident aboard the Queen's Gambit. Felicity had come into the darkness of the lair and flipped on the light, doing as he asked and giving him the information he needed to _do something_ with the anger, the rage, the loss of trust . . . she gave him a way to channel the despair into good. She helped him bring Walter home. When he hadn't been able to cope with his failure in stopping the Undertaking and saving Tommy, she had eventually come to bring him home. Bit by bit, she slowly helped him find himself again.

It had been both she and Dig that had come to find him the next time he was sitting against a pillar, but it hadn't been this one. It had been at his secondary location, the one he had kept secret from all of them, on the off chance of a betrayal. His mother was dead, and he was certain that the time had come to give himself over to Slade. He had lost everything, and he had accepted it was finally time for him to die. _"You can't just accept things, Oliver,_" Felicity had pleaded with him. But it hadn't mattered. He didn't just accept it, he had welcomed it. And so he had squeezed her hand and walked away. It wasn't until later, on the return home from Lian Yu, that he remembered what he had told her after she had spilled the information about Thea. _"You're not going to lose me._" He had gone back on that and walked away from her, but she and John had still come after him. They refused to accept his fate, and they fought along side him. Loyal and brave to a fault. Against all odds, they had won, and he had finally felt like the hero she saw him to be._  
><em>

He didn't feel like a hero now, though. He came full circle in his thoughts, and wished to hell he hadn't. Because now there was nothing but the pain and despair and darkness again. There was nothing to do now. They had taken Komodo down, although they did not who had hired him. And someone _had _hired him, he had hinted at that before Laurel unloaded the entire clip into him. They didn't know why Sara was in Starling, and they didn't know why Komodo had gone after Palmer. Komodo was dead, and Sara was dead, and Laurel was asleep in her apartment with her father keeping watch, thinking that his daughter was upset because she had been in an altercation involving the Arrow. Quentin Lance had no idea his younger daughter had been lost to him a second time.

He heard the door at the top of the stairs click open, and the soft pad of small feet down the stairs. Felicity flicked on the small lamp she had put on her desk when he had started sleeping in the lair. He closed his eyes against the intrusion of the soft light, not entirely ready for whatever was to come next. She made him feel . . .things. Too many things. Things he couldn't afford to feel. Things he had forgotten about. He felt her move in front of him, and opened his eyes to look at her. She squatted down, dressed in black sweats and a too-big MIT t-shirt. Behind her glasses, her eyes were red rimmed from crying and her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail. She reached out with one hand and took the bow out of his hands, using the other to slowly push down his hood, softly saying his name. He hadn't even realized he still had it up. Her hands lingered on his cheek, and he turned his head ever so slightly into her warmth, feeling all the things he was pushing down bubbling to the surface as she touched him. Her eyes searched his and she swallowed, standing up quickly to put the bow in its case.

"I couldn't sleep either," she said softly, collecting his sweats and hoody from over by the bed. "Every time I closed my eyes . . . I still can't believe she's gone, Oliver." She pushed the clothes into his hands. "Here." He did as she asked, heading to the bathroom to strip off the green leather in favor of the sweats. When he came back out, he found her in his vacated spot, knees pulled up to her chest. She scooted over slightly, patting the space next to her. "I don't know how you slept on the floor. Its cold and hard . . . "

"I've slept in worse places," he said softly, sinking down next to her, just close enough that their shoulders and hips touched. Where before there was cold and darkness, now there was warmth and light. He felt those things clawing their way from his chest and up towards his throat. He settled back and watched her, trying to press things down. He remembered what he had told Felicity earlier. _"I don't have the luxury of falling to pieces_." Except now, for the moment, it was over. There was nothing for him to do. But grief wasn't something he had let himself deal with in a very long time.

She leaned her head back against the pillar, scrubbing her hands over her eyes under her glasses. "I can't imagine going through this more than once, Oliver. You lost her three times. THREE TIMES. Laurel lost her twice. Detective Lance . . . "

She turned her head and looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, the pain of Sara's loss evident in her eyes. And that was all it took. Everything welled over, and everything came to the surface. He heard a scream, and knew it was his own as his vision blurred. Felt the infinitesimal bite of his nails as they dug into his fists, felt the cold hardness of the pillar as he brought his head back against it. Felt her arms around him, pulling him toward her as he finally let the grief overwhelm him. Because he hadn't really grieved for any of them. Grieving was yet another part of himself he had shut off a long time ago. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone comfort him. He figured it was probably his parents, over something stupid and foolish he had done as a teen. He had comforted Thea plenty of times. He let the walls fall away and let it overwhelm him. His father, who had died so he could live. Tommy, who had died so Laurel could live. His mother, who had died so that he and Thea could live. Yao Fe, who had died for him and Shado and Slade. Shado, who had died so that Sara could live. Sara, who had died because the world was unfair. He heard her talking to him, soothing him, as it poured out, felt her touch as the years of pain came out. _Sara was gone. Added to an evergrowing list of people he lost_. Because here, with her, he finally felt safe enough to let it overcome him.

_"What if the storm ends?  
><em>_And I don't see you  
><em>_As you are now  
><em>_Ever again  
><em>_The perfect halo  
><em>_Of gold hair and lightning  
><em>_Sets you off against  
><em>_The planets last dance  
><em>_Just for a minute  
><em>_The silver-forked sky  
><em>_Lift you up like a star  
><em>_That I will follow  
><em>_But now it's found us  
><em>_Like I have found you  
><em>_I don't wanna run  
><em>_Just overwhelm me"_

-_The Snow Patrol, What If The Storm Ends_


	13. What If The Storm Ends

_Still obsessed with the Snow Patrol's "What If The Storm Ends" . . . used the lyrics in my last installment. Last night's episode went down pretty much exactly as I expected. Still not over it. This little bit is for LadyChaos/Child of Dawn, who wanted the fire escape trope. Set sometime after 3.02, but before 3.05. Quick and dirty, all mistakes are my own_

Dead ends. Oliver felt like everywhere he turned, there were dead ends. He was at a dead end with Thea. She was home in Starling, where she belonged, but she was unyielding in her decision not to forgive him. He hated that Malcolm Merlyn had erased the innocence in her. He hated even more that _he _had opened up the wound for that to happen, by his own admissions. He had managed to bring her home, physically, but she was forever changed by loss and betrayal. He couldn't repair his relationship with his sister, just as he couldn't seem to make headway on finding Sara's killer. He thought for certain it was Merlyn, when he had discovered he was alive. But that, like Komodo had been a dead end. The trail was running cold. Diggle had taken a position at ARGUS, no longer in the field, just as he had wanted. Roy was spending considerable time trying to fix his relationship with Thea, with similar results to Oliver's. Laurel looked like hell and was spending her nights at a boxing gym deep in the Glades, unwilling to accept or entertain Oliver's concern. And Felicity . . .

Felicity was currently curled up on her couch, swamped in a blanket, nose buried in a book as she sipped from a green mug. They hadn't spoken much lately. First he had been in Corto Maltese, and then she had headed to Central City to help "Team Flash," as she had dubbed them. Then Nyssa had arrived and the had attempted to take down Meryln for Sara's death. Except Merlyn, for all of his faults, hadn't been the doer either. With Felicity's new position at Queen Consolidated, he only saw her when he was headed in or out of the foundry dressed in green. As much as he knew he shouldn't, he _missed her_. He missed how they had been before that disastrous first date-tension loaded touches and too long caresses. He miss how she had looked at him, before he pulled the plug before they even got off the ground . . . before they had buried Sara. So much had happened in so little time. Which was why he was standing on her fire escape on a Thursday night instead of fighting crime. She would have been in the foundry if she had known he was in the field, but he was supposed to be having dinner with Thea. Of course, Thea had cancelled, but she didn't know that.

He watched her as she set down the cup and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes with both hands. She looked tired, worn . . . she looked like he felt. His hands fisted as he felt the urge to reach for the railing and put himself next to her window. It was a cool night in Starling, and she had it open just a crack. He realized that this was the future he had in store for himself, on this present course. Years of watching her from outside her window as she went on with her life. And she _would _go on with her life. When he had said those words to her in the hospital hallway all those weeks ago, he hadn't really understood the implications of his own actions. She had waited, patiently, for six months for him to come around to the feelings that had escaped him on that night with Slade. He couldn't expect her to wait for him for anymore.

_"Quit dangling maybes. Say its never going to work out between us. Say you never loved me."_

But he _did _love her, and the idea of her not knowing that, not understanding that had been unbearable. It was even worse now, with so much hanging between them unsaid. When he was alone in the early hours of the morning, with so little to distract him, Sara haunted him, whispering all the things he didn't want to remember. _"We're not our masks, and we need people in our lives who don't wear them. . .you need someone that can harness that light that's still inside you."_

Inside, Felicity shifted, pulling her feet out from under her and putting them on the floor, elbows on her knees as she tented her hands and hunched in on herself. He knew that stance; knew it meant that she was hurting. She stared across her living room, and he realized she was looking at that ridiculous Robin Hood poster she insisted on keeping over her fireplace. She reached for her phone on the table, turning it over in her hands. He was in the window before he realized he had made the conscious decision to do so. She jumped up, spinning as he slid in. "Oliver!" She cried surprised. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He just shook his head, unable to answer. What could he say? Everything was wrong. Nothing felt right.

Felicity slid by him, reaching around to pull the blinds over her window, the turned off the lights. "The last thing I need is for the neighbors to see a guy dressed in green in my apartment," she muttered. Once she had effectively blocked out the world, she turned to face him expectantly.

He reached up and pulled down the hood, took off the mask. But he couldn't find the words. She crossed one hand over her midsection, scrubbing her other hand under her glasses to rub her eyes again. "Oliver . . ."

"I was wrong," he said finally, locking his gaze on hers. He took a step forward. "I don't know that I can be both Oliver Queen and the Arrow, but I do know I can't be _me_ without you. I don't want to be."

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "Until the next time everything explodes around us again," she said softly. "Until someone," she took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed on. "someone else dies, and you decide you don't get to be _you _again, Oliver. I can't live like that. I won't."

He stood there, dressed in his suit, his armor against the outside world, and wondered if he already had lost her. If he'd come to the realization too late that she was completely irreplaceable in his life. He had no idea what to say. Because in the past seven months, he had absolutely been willing to turn himself over to Slade, without thinking about how that affected her or Dig. He had come back bloody more times than he could count, and he didn't know if something was coming that would scare the hell out of him again and make him completely irrational.

"Felicity," he said softly, taking a careful step toward her. "I don't know what's coming. I don't know anything anymore. But I know I love you."

"But not enough to _be_ with me," she said, and _christ, _she was crying.

He was across the room and pulling her into his arms before he could stop himself. Every carefully constructed wall between them was gone the moment he touched her. "It's not over," he whispered. And then he was kissing her. And this time, she kissed him back. When they came up, gasping for air, he framed her face with his hands, gently brushing his nose with hers. "It could _never be over_."

Whatever came, they would face it _together. _

_"I wanna see you as you are now  
>Every single day that I am living<br>Painted in flames, a peeling thunder  
>Be the lightning in me that strikes relentless"<br>~Snow Patrol, What If the Storm Ends_


	14. The Dreams You Left Behind

_I have an unhealthy obsession with the moment Oliver finally, FINALLY decides to stop Felicity when she goes to walk away from him. We've seen her walk away so many times this season. So my brain came up with this. Major spoilers/spec for 3x09. Enjoy. Side note, I am planning a multichapter fic to get us through the hiatus + rise of the buckle canary. Fan fiction may be my only escape for awhile. _

_Side note-I hate writing Felicity crying. I don't do it often because I feel like its WAY overused in fanfic. But no way any of this happens without gut wrenching sobs. Cause ya know, that's pretty much how I felt when I wrote it. Title is from 5SOS lyrics to Amnesia and much of the dialog is lifted from the promo._

"There has to be another way."

Oliver looked into Felicity's determined blue eyes, and wished to hell that there was. He couldn't help the feeling of deja vu that was setting in, bringing him back to six months ago, when she had spoken those exact words. He had been so sure, back then, that the only way to end things was to hand himself over to Slade. She had refused to accept it, and they _had _found another way. But this was different. Ras al Ghul was on a whole other level. "There's not." he said.

He hated the way her shoulders drooped, defeated as she took off her glasses and scrubbed at her eyes with hand. "This is a dual with one of the most dangerous men that has ever walked the earth, Oliver. In another county. On another _continent_." She shook her head and looked down at the floor in front of his feet as tears flooded her eyes.

"It's the only way to keep the League out of the city," he said, trying to find the words that would make her see the rationality of it all.

She gave a little nod of her head and started to walk past him, walk away from him. _Again_. It seemed like that was all she had been doing since October-walking away from him over and over again. On his own volition, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist gently. He was due to meet Nyssa in less than an hour, and he didn't want this to be the last memory he had with her. She stopped, her back still facing him. "Don't walk away. Please," he said and his voice broke. "Not now, Felicity. Not this time."

Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped, but she didn't look at him. "What do you want me to do, Oliver?" He heard her voice crack, and he felt a twist in his chest. "You've made it clear that one way or the other, I'm going to lose you. It's just a matter of when and where. This is the _only way_ I know how to even attempt to keep the pieces of myself together when it does."

Oliver didn't think as he pulled her toward him, her name falling off his lips like a prayer. He wasn't sure that she would come willingly, and was suprised when she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him as tightly as he held her. There was a roaring in his ears as he realized that no matter what came next, he had hurt her, had _been _hurting her since he had ended things before they had began in October. All that he seemed to leave in his wake was pain and emptiness, when she should have had light and warmth. Despite everything he was, everything he had done, she cared for him. She _loved him_. It seemed like the greatest miracle and his greatest punishment all in one. He nuzzled into her hair and breathed her in. When he was finally whole enough to speak, he nosed through until his mouth was close to her ear. "I know it seems like a lie, but no matter what happens, you're not going to lose me. Because my heart is yours, Felicity. Nothing will change that."

Her shoulders shook, she held tighter. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually she turned her face up to him, wiping her eyes as she finally put her glasses back on. She finally looked up at him, blue eyes deep and sad behind those glasses. Eyes that knew him, that saw him for who he was and loved him anyway, even though she'd never said the words. Except then she did. "It's selfish of me to ask Oliver, but come back. I love you and I need to know you aren't just going to go to him and give up."

His hands came up and palmed her face, just as he had in the hallway all those months ago. "Not this time," he whispered. "I didn't know what I was fighting for before, but now I do. I'm not giving up."

And then she closed the distance between them, and she was kissing him. For that moment, all of the pain and the fear and the loss melted away, and he was home.

She stayed with him until it was time, holding on to him as he held on to her. He kissed her on the forehead before he left the lair, her name spilling one last time from his lips. He carried the image of her across the sea, up a mountain and through months of pain. He held on to the dreams through the nightmare.


	15. 37 Days

_AN: Here be spoilers for 3x09. Please check your heart at the door. I'm so so sorry in advance. This is quick, dirty, and totally unedited._

Felicity becomes aware of things slowly. First it's the smell of ash in her nostrils, followed by the overwhelming sense of loss. She almost feels like pieces of her may be missing, but she can't quite seem to move to catalog her injuries. She realizes she can hear voices...Oliver's and Dig's. Deep and soft, and for reasons that make no sense to her, she simply revels in the timbre of Oliver's voice, in the familiarity of the exchange between the two men she has spent the past two years with. But there is a sense of wrongness that becomes unbearable, and suddenly she can't fight it anymore. She gasps awake, his name falling from her lips in a cry of desperation. Oliver is suddenly over her, speaking to her in that soft voice he seems to reserve just for her. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe. I'm here." The steady blue oceans that are his eyes hold her gaze, his face covered in soot and his suit in tatters. She can feel the cool surface of the med bay table under her, the familiar lighting of the lair failing to give it's usual sense of comfort.

Felicity can't bring herself to look away him, but she knows something is very, very wrong. There is a sense of déjà vu that is nearly suffocating, like she has been here before. But there is also a weight of foreboding, a knowledge that something is terribly, terribly wrong. She's wearing the red dress she had chosen for their dinner date, except that was a lifetime ago.

A shadow suddenly falls over them, and she cries out a warning to Oliver. But he doesn't look away from her, he simply raises the edges of his lips in that soft smile that made her fall in love with him, the one that seems just for her. The shadow materializes into a man, dressed in floor length robes. There is a sickening sound, and both Felicity and Oliver look down to the end of the blade that is now inexplicably sticking out from Oliver's chest. She screams as she reaches for him, but she suddenly can't reach him. It's like he's being pulled away from her. He looks up, meeting her gaze as blood begins spilling from his mouth. "I love you," he whispers. And then he is gone.

Felicity is screaming, and she doesn't know how long it takes her to realize she's in her own bed. She rests her head on her knees, trying desperately to bring air into her lungs and stop the tears. She doesn't even know how she has any tears left to cry. Her mind slowly sorts out the dream from reality. Oliver said those words to her months ago, after their failed date. He didn't die then. But he's gone now. It has been 37 days since Nyssa returned to Starling City, bearing Oliver's jacket and news of his death at the hands of Ras al Ghul.

For 37 days, they had all floundered along, trying to find purpose in the mission. Diggle wears the green suit regularly (but not Oliver's, because even Oliver's arms were not as big as Diggle's). Roy patrolled at night and did his best to keep an eye on Thea, who had become increasingly distraught about Oliver's disappearance. The mission reminded Felicity of Oliver, and it was hard for her to be in the foundry. The place had once felt like home, but now it served as a reminder of all that had been lost. She had tried four times in the last week to take his suit off the mannequin, because she couldn't be in the foundry without looking at it and thinking of him. She couldn't bring herself to do it though, because that would be an admission that she accepted he was gone, and that he was never coming back. She wasn't ready to do that yet, because to admit he was gone, that he died without her telling him how she felt, is absolutely unthinkable.

She stumbles out of bed and digs in her dresser drawer. It only takes a few seconds to find the shirt . . .she's been pulling it out all too often lately, and she knows that this can't be a healthy thing. She runs her fingers over the fine material and brings it to her nose, even though it doesn't smell like him after nearly a year in her closet. She sits back on her bed and holds that stupid shirt, thinking about the night she took a bullet for Sara, her friend, a woman who Oliver once loved. She thinks about Oliver, in her oxycodon stilted memory, cupping her cheek and telling her she would always be his girl. They are both dead now, and it hurts. the tears are falling again, and she wonders if there is a limit to how much a person can cry. This makes her think of Laurel, and the very different circumstances of Oliver's first death. How hard it must have been, to lose him and Sara at the same time, and to know that they died while betraying her trust. She couldn't imagine living with that at all, yet alone for five years. At least Felicity knew, despite everything, that Oliver loved her. Her demon to bear was that she couldn't be certain he knew she loved him back.

She left for Palmer Industries before the sun came up. Perhaps if she buried herself in her work for the day, exhausting herself past the point of reason, she would be too tired to dream when she finally fell asleep. Maybe on day 38, she wouldn't dream of him. But then again, dreams were the only place where she could see him anymore.


End file.
